


Chandeliers, Caviar, and Cuddles

by hopingforaword



Series: Cuddles ‘verse [1]
Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy, Voyná i mir | War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy
Genre: Anatole is a pretentious shit who spouts french terms of endearment, Caring, Cuddling, Cunnilingus, F/M, First Kiss, French, Hand Jobs, I love him, Mocking, Oral Sex, Sex, Sexual Content, Sexual Inexperience, Sexual Teaching, Sleeping in the same bed, Teasing siblings, The Ball, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, like he teaches her how to do the sex, moving slowly, sorry if i fucked up the clothes i did minimal research
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-25
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2018-11-04 15:39:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10993914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopingforaword/pseuds/hopingforaword
Summary: Anatole breathed in the intoxicating smell of Natasha's perfume. Intoxicating was the perfect word to describe Natasha. Everything about her – the smell of her perfume, the softness of her skin, the faint tremors in her words – made Anatole feel drunk. She turned to face him, his hand still on her arm, and her eyes grew wide as he leaned closer. “I am madly, madly in love with you, Natasha.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> here goes nothing...

Anatole breathed in the intoxicating smell of Natasha's perfume. Intoxicating was the perfect word to describe Natasha. Everything about her – the smell of her perfume, the softness of her skin, the faint tremors in her words – made Anatole feel drunk. She turned to face him, his hand still on her arm, and her eyes grew wide as he leaned closer. “I am madly, madly in love with you, Natasha,” he said, before wrapping his fingers around the back of her head and pulling her lips to meet his. 

When Anatole had first laid eyes on Natasha, he had suspected that no one had ever touched her. She was beautiful and charming, but she was young and things were different out in the country than in Moscow. She had moved like she was scared of touching anyone, even accidentally. From the second Anatole’s lips touched hers, he knew he was right. Natasha stood there and let Anatole kiss her, but she didn't kiss him back. Anatole pulled away, the hand on Natasha's neck sliding down her arm to hold her hand. 

“Dèsolé, belle,” he whispered, lifting her hand to his lips and planting a gentle kiss. “I should have asked and not attacked.” He dropped their hands to his side and waited. 

Natasha stood still for a moment, before looking down at her fingers, still intertwined with Anatole’s. Her other hand brushed across her smiling lips. “Don't apologize,” she said softly, “I've just never kissed anyone. I'm not sure I know what I'm doing here.”

“Here with me?”

“Here in Moscow. Here in this ballroom. Here with all of Moscow watching everything I do.” Natasha looked out over the room, plainly searching for Marya and Sonya. 

Anatole stepped closer so he could whisper in Natasha’s ear, “Would you like to go somewhere more private?”

Her tiny gasp made Anatole grin. “Won't people notice?”

“Everyone is too busy with their own drama to notice anyone else is even around,” he laughed. 

Natasha bit her lip and Anatole wanted to kiss her again. “What if–”

He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her flush against him. “Has anyone ever told you that you think and worry too much?”

“No one has ever listened to me long enough to notice that I even think,” Natasha said, her eyes meeting Anatole's. 

He spun her slowly around as he thought. “Not even Prince Andrey?” She sighed. 

“You told me not to talk to you about him.” At Anatole's raised eyebrow, Natasha said, “He can not listen and still love me.”

“But I love you enough to listen to you.” Anatole watched Natasha crinkle her eyebrows and worry her lip as they glided around. “Stop thinking, Natasha. Stop worrying. Do what you want to do.”

Natasha looked at Anatole curiously before she nodded. “Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, I’d like to go somewhere more private with you.” They spun a final time, and Natasha linked her arm through Anatole's. He led her out of the ballroom and silently up a flight of stairs at the back of the house. Anatole opened at door and Natasha gasped as she stepped into a bedroom. “Is this yours?”

Anatole shook his head. “Héléne’s, when we were younger. So,” he pulled her flush against him, “where were we?”

Natasha leaned forward, her lips brushing gently against Anatole’s. “Here,” she whispered against his mouth. Anatole’s hands came to rest on her back as he kissed her, slowly trying to press her lips apart. Natasha parted her lips, allowing Anatole to gently slip his tongue into her mouth. Natasha gasped, sliding her own tongue alone Anatole’s and putting her hands in his hair. Anatole walked forwards, guiding Natasha gently until she was leaned against a bedpost. She sighed and pulled Anatole’s hair before she tipped her head back. “Sorry.”

“For what, mon chéri?” he asked, his big eyes staring into hers as he leaned over her. 

“Mussing your hair.”

Anatole grinned. “I like when you muss my hair.” He ran his fingers along her neck. “I know you're nervous, Natasha, but it's just me. I love you. You don't have to impress me.”

“What are we doing to do?” she whispered. 

“What do you want to do?”

Natasha shrugged sheepishly. “What do  _ you _ want?”

He stepped forward again, every inch of his body pressed against hers. “I want to make love to you, Natasha.” She blushed and Anatole whispered, “You know what I mean, yes? Or do they keep country girls more sheltered than I can imagine?”

“I know what you mean, but I'm not a Moscow girl, Anatole. I don't know that I want to … do that yet. I'm sorry.” She scuffed her feet and looked at the ground. 

“Natasha,” Anatole whispered, pulling her chin up to look at him. “There's no need to be sorry. I can wait for you to be ready. Besides, there are other things we can do.”

“Like what?” Natasha breathed. 

Anatole smiled at her. “We could go dance again, or sit in the garden and stare up at the stars, or talk, or I could pull you onto this bed and kiss you again.” Natasha's eyes widened, and Anatole kissed her again before lifting her up and placing her softly on the bed. 

“Silk,” she whispered, running her hands over the sheets. Natasha looked up at Anatole, hovering at the edge of the bed. “I really love Moscow.”

Anatole went around to the other side of the bed and laid down, hands under his head as he watched Natasha. “Such a shame to hide pretty girls in the county. If you had been here, you surely could've found a man much better than me.”

“But I love you, Anatole. I want you. I want to be Natasha Kuragin.” She smiled at him, and he smiled back. 

“Come, lay down.” She did, and Anatole ghosted his fingers over her cheek. “You are the most beautiful young lady in all of Moscow. All of Russia, I’d wager.” He kissed her softly. “You should stay here tonight.”

“What would I tell Marya?”

“Perhaps you could say that, while trying to fit in with the oh-so-fashionable, but badly behaved, Moscow women, you drank too much and Héléne, after she couldn't find Marya or Sonya, kindly offered to let you stay in her childhood bedroom.” His hand slid down her neck, thumb rubbing circles into her shoulders. 

“And what would we really do?” Natasha gasped. 

“Well we could do this,” Anatole said, leaning in to kiss Natasha. “Or this.” He kissed along her jaw and down her neck, stopping at her collarbone. “Or I could take off my jacket and vest.” Natasha nodded and Anatole sat up. He shrugged off his jacket and unbuttoned his vest, throwing it across the room.

“You could take off my necklace,” Natasha whispered, turning so Anatole could unfasten it. He put it on the nightstand before sitting back to kiss Natasha’s neck. “I've wanted you to do that since the opera.”

“I've wanted to do it since the opera.” He smiled into her shoulder before kissing her neck again. Natasha shivered. 

“What else do you want to do with me? You know, beside…” She waved her arms vaguely and Anatole hummed into the crook where her neck met her shoulder. 

“I want to take off your dress,” he whispered, “but I could take off your shoes instead.” Natasha turned around to face Anatole, but he crawled down the bed, and slipped her shoes off, gently kissing the top of each foot. Natasha giggled. 

“You're a strange man, Anatole Kuragin.”

Slipping of his own shoes, he said, “I just want to show you how much I love you, Natasha Rostova.”

“I love you,” she said as he climbed back up the bed. “Can you take off your shirt?”

Anatole smiled and kissed her forehead. “Anything for you, love.” He sat back, slowly unbuttoning his shirt and watching Natasha's face as more of his skin was revealed. Anatole was shocked to see the stark look of hunger on Natasha's face. When Anatole's torso was bare, he laid back down, Natasha still sitting and watching him avidly. Before Anatole could tell her to touch him, she reached out a tentative hand to trace a scar along the side of his rib cage. 

“What happened?”

“Just the war,” Anatole said. 

“It turns boys into men and women into widows,” Natasha responded, “it must be scary.”

“Not as scary as how much I love you.” Natasha rolled her eyes. “I mean it, Natasha. The war is behind me. You are my present, my future.”

“What else is behind you?” Anatole furrows his eyebrow, and Natasha watched her hands, still tracing the scar. “How many other women have you made love to?”

“None.” Natasha glared at him. “I didn't love them.” Natasha raised one eyebrow and Anatole sighed in defeat. “Ten.”

Natasha nodded. “Okay. As long as I know.”

“They're nothing to me now, Natasha.”

Natasha nodded. She kissed Anatole once before peppering kisses along his jaw and exposed neck, reaching his collarbone and sitting up. She took one of his hands and guided it to her hair, which he pulled down in one swift motion. Anatole’s hand played with the lace at Natasha’s shoulder. She whispered, “Take it off.”

“What?”

“Take off my dress,” she said a little louder. She sat up, kneeling on the bed, and Anatole sat up, softly skating his hands to the hem of her dress, which he slowly lifted over Natasha’s head, leaving her in a silky crinoline. 

“You're beautiful,” he whispered, pushing her back against the pillows. He leaned over her, kissing her as he moved to undo his belt. Natasha put her hand over his. 

“Anatole, I still don't want to.”

“I know, chérie. I just want to take off my belt.” Natasha nodded and Anatole took off his belt. The sound of the belt hitting the floor hid the sound of the door opening, but not the sharp laugh. Anatole flattened against Natasha. 

“Classy, Anatole, your sister’s childhood bedroom,” Héléne laughed from the doorway. 

“Get lost, Héléne.”

“Oh, fine. Goodnight, Anatole. Goodnight, Anatole's friend.” She laughed and closed the door. Anatole stood up with a grumble and locked the door. He sat back down, running his fingers through his hair. 

“I'm sorry about Héléne. At least she didn't know who you were.” He looked at Natasha, lying beside him, whose cheeks were bright red. “Are you alright, Natasha?”

“I'm fine.”

“You're blood red, darling.”

“It's not Héléne, it's – when you – I could feel–” She gestured vaguely towards his legs. 

“Oh.” Anatole ran his hands through his hair sheepishly. 

Natasha sat up onto her elbows. “Does it – does it hurt?”

“No. In fact,” Anatole let out a dry chuckle, “it can feel really good when it's touched.”

“Do you want me to touch it?”

Anatole met Natasha's eyes and was shocked at the sincerity he saw in her face. “Only if you want to, Natasha.”

She looked at him, chewing on her lip. “I don't know yet. But I think you should take off your pants.”

Anatole smiled and did as Natasha asked. Natasha gasped as he laid back down next to her. “Are you alright?”

“There's just… so much of you,” Natasha whispered almost reverently, skating her fingers over his abdomen. “You're so beautiful, Anatole.”

Anatole smiled. “I'm all yours, darling.” He reached a hand out, running the back of his fingers over the fabric at her waist. Something in Natasha’s face shifted, and before Anatole was aware of what was happening, Natasha was seated across his hips, her lips millimeters from his. 

“I've never even wanted to do this with anyone,” Natasha murmured, “You unleash something wild in me, Anatole.” She kissed him quickly. “And I think I like it.” She moved and kissed his Adam’s apple. 

“I rather like it, too,” Anatole said, pulling Natasha back to meet his lips. His hands trailed over her legs, reaching the hem of her slip and toying with it. Natasha pulled back from Anatole’s mouth, pulling her slip off in one swift motion. Anatole made a low noise in his throat and rolled over so he was kneeling between Natasha's legs. “I like it immensely.”

Natasha smiled as Anatole swooped forward to kiss the soft skin across Natasha’s chest. Natasha rubbed her thumb against each red spot as Anatole moved on to create a new one. Anatole sat back on his knees, admiring Natasha, and he frowned when she yawned. “You need to sleep.”

“I do not!” Natasha protested as Anatole slid off her and onto the soft sheets. “Anatole, I don't need to sleep.”

“Don't be silly, Natasha. It's late. I can get you a glass of wine, if you want one, before you sleep.”

“Please.”

Anatole nodded and kissed Natasha’s forehead before he stood up. He slipped out of the door and started down the stairs until he heard a throat clear behind him. He winced and turned around. 

“Oh, dear brother,” Héléne clicked her tongue, “Such indecency. And your lady friend didn't even relieve your problem.” She gestured toward his crotch, and Anatole regretted not putting on more clothes. 

“Some things are about love, Héléne, and not just making it.”

“You wouldn't know anything about that, Anatole.”

“Maybe I'm learning. Now if you'll excuse me, my love has requested a glass of wine.” He turned around and descended the stairs to the kitchen, ignoring the sounds of the ball winding down, and hoping no one saw him. Anatole quickly returned to the room where Natasha lay, and reentered the room quickly. 

“Thank you,” Natasha said, one hand extended to take the glass from Anatole. He handed it over and raised his own. 

“To love and lovers,” he proclaimed, and Natasha clinked her glass against his. Anatole smiled as he watched Natasha drink and slowly drank his own glass. “Well,” he said, after a few minute passed and Natasha finished her drink, “I'd better be off.” He stood and felt Natasha’s fingers wrap around his wrist. 

“Where are you going?” Natasha was kneeling on the edge of the bed, the wine glass on the night table, her eyes pleading. 

“To my own room.”

“Stay with me, please Anatole.”

He looked into Natasha’s big brown eyes and smiled. “Sure, my love.” He kissed her and pushed her back onto the bed. He sat up. “Do you want your slip back?”

Natasha shook her head. “I want to sleep like this.” Anatole smiled and leaned over the edges of the bed to blow out the candles. He pulled the covers over the two of them and watched as Natasha curled onto her side, back to him. 

“Goodnight, Natasha.”

“Goodnight, Anatole.”


	2. Chapter 2

Natasha was smiling as she woke up slowly, wrapped tight in Anatole’s arms. The smoothness of the sheets and the warmth of Anatole’s skin against hers made her feel right at home in the strange house. She looked over her shoulder and whispered, “Anatole.”

“Hm?”

“I want to do things.”

“What things?” Anatole mumbled. 

Turning over and tracing stars on Anatole’s chest, Natasha said, “See, that's the thing. I don't know what I'm doing, so I don't know what I want to try. I was hoping you would have some suggestions.”

Anatole opened his eyes and smiled sleepily. “I have some ideas.”

Natasha smiled. “Then tell me,” she said softly, “I have no idea what I’m doing, Anatole. You have to teach me.”

Anatole picked his head up to kiss Natasha gently. “You’ll tell me if I hurt you, or if you don’t like something, right?”

“Yes,” Natasha whispered.

“Good.” Anatole smiled dazzlingly and with one swift motion turned Natasha onto her back and pushed her up against the pillows. Anatole kissed Natasha more thoroughly than the night before, his tongue and lips finding all the most sensitive parts of her mouth before trailing down the side of her neck. His hands ran over the silky material of Natasha’s corset, tracing her waist and massaging her breasts.

“Anatole,” Natasha whispered shakily, “What are you doing to me?” She smiled, her eyes closed, and Anatole kissed her again.

“Oh, chérie, there’s so many more beautiful things you haven’t even felt yet.”

“What could be more than this?” 

Anatole laughed as one of his hands slipped gently into her drawers. He continued to kiss Natasha as two of his fingers slowly entered her. Natasha’s back drew up slightly at the new sensation, and Anatole smiled against her lips. His thumb gently circled her clitoris and Natasha gasped.

“Are you okay?”

Natasha nodded and kissed Anatole back hard. Anatole took this as a sign of encouragement and pressed slightly harder, moving his thumb faster until Natasha’s panting made kissing impossible. He watched her, enraptured, as a wave of pleasure overcame her and she let out a gasp.

“You look so beautiful, Natasha,” Anatole whispered, kissing her forehead as he wiped his fingers on the sheets, “So gorgeous. So wonderful.”

“What,” Natasha gasped, “was that? Can I do that to you? Can I make you feel that?”

Anatole looked at her and smiled. “You can. You don’t have to but–”

“I want to,” Natasha declared, and the determination in her eyes made Anatole swoon.

“Okay. Come here.” He leaned back against the headboard and Natasha sat by his side, facing him. “I’m going to take off my drawers, okay?” Natasha nodded, eyes fixed on Anatole’s legs as he took his drawers off. Natasha simply stared for a second, taking in for the first time the sight of a fully naked man. Tentatively, she reached out her hand and touched Anatole’s erection.

“What do I do?” Natasha whispered, and Anatole reached out a hand to brush her hair out of her eyes. 

“Wrap your fingers around and move your hand up and down.” 

Natasha followed his instructions, slowly stroking up and down. “It’s warm,” she said, matter-of-factly, and Anatole laughed. “What? It is.”

“You’re right,” Anatole said, the hand in Natasha’s hair trailing down her neck, “It is.”

They were silent for some time, Natasha slowly stroking Anatole as pleasure washed over him. Very tentatively, Natasha leaned forward and kissed the head as she pulled her hand to expose it and Anatole felt a distinct tightening in his stomach before he came on Natasha’s hand with an exhale. After a moment he said, “Let me get a towel,” and made to stand up until Natasha stuck her finger in her mouth. Anatole moaned faintly as Natasha licked his come off her fingers. When her hand was clean, Anatole surged forward and kissed her. “You are amazing in ways I couldn’t ever imagine,” he whispered, and Natasha blushed.

“I should probably go home,” Natasha said, “Marya will be worried sick.” She stood up, and Anatole grabbed her hand.

“Will you come visit me tomorrow?” Natasha looked wary, and Anatole said, “You could tell Marya you were visiting Héléne and Pierre. She loves Pierre.”

Natasha smiled. “I’ll try.”

Anatole grinned back at her. “Here, I’ll help you get dressed.” He helped Natasha into her dress and slipped her shoes on her feet. She smiled up at him and they kissed slowly. “Héléne should be downstairs. If not, one of my servants should help you get home.” Natasha opened the door and was halfway out of it before Anatole said, “Send me a letter, Natalie, if you can come over tomorrow.”

She smiled and Anatole felt his heart melt. “I will. Until tomorrow, Anatole Kuragin.” She shut the door, and Anatole sat on the bed, wondering how such an innocent girl had made him swoon so much in just a day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter three will be out on October 8th


	3. Chapter 3

Natasha finished dressing and looked in the mirror, smiling at the way her new favorite dress looked on her. She spun around, giggling, before she focused on making her face blank. Marya and Sonya would never believe that she was going over to visit Pierre to discuss philosophy if she was smiling like a schoolgirl.

“Marya?” she called, opening the door of her bedroom, “I’m going to visit Count Bezukhov. I’ll be back before dark!”

“Don’t forget your fur cloak, it’s cold out there! Tell the count I say hello,” Marya called from upstairs. Natasha smiled, grabbed her fancy new cloak, and swung it over her shoulders before running down the steps of Marya’s home  and off towards the Kuragin mansion.

 

Anatole clutched the letter in his hand, reading and rereading it until he could recite it from memory. “I can’t believe it.”

Héléne entered the sitting room, holding a glass of red wine with her eyebrows raised. “You’ve been reading that letter for nearly twenty minutes, Anatole. Surely your little plaything can’t write anything  _ that _ obscene.” She leaned back on the couch, one foot on the cushion and glass dangling dangerously from her hand.

“Natasha is not a plaything. And I have good news.” He looked at his sister, who silently gestured with her head and glass that he should continue. “My wife passed away.”

“What?”

“She passed away. This letter is from her father. He says she passed about two weeks ago from pneumonia.” Anatole looked down at her excitedly. “You know what this means?”

“A trip to the brothel with Dolokhov?” Héléne asked with a sneer.

“I can marry Natasha, Héléne. I can give her everything she wants.”

Before Héléne could respond, someone knocked on the door. Anatole rushed over and opened it. Natasha immediately flung herself into his arms, pulling his face down to meet hers. She leaned away and whispered, “I missed you.” Natasha caught sight of Héléne, watching the two of them, amused,  from the couch and said, “Hello Countess Bezukhova.”

“I’ve never cared much for formality, Countess Rosotova. Héléne is fine.”

“I have a question, ma chérie.” Anatole led Natasha over to the couch opposite Héléne and sat her down. He sat next to her, holding her hands in his own. “Will you marry me, Natalya Rostova?”

Natasha gasped, her face breaking into a giant grin. “Of course I will! Yes yes, a million times yes!” Natasha pulled Anatole into a kiss, wasting no time in straddling his lap, kissing him so hard Anatole was temporarily stunned. He quickly caught up with the pace Natasha was setting, sliding one hand into her hair and the other slowly up her thigh. A tapping sound near the door shocked them apart and Anatole turned to look at his sister, Natasha’s head resting on his shoulder. 

“As lovely as it was to watch,” Héléne gestured at the two of them, “that, my husband and I have plans this afternoon. Goodbye, dear brother. Goodbye, Natasha. I expect I’ll be seeing more of you now.” Hélene picked up her black fur cloak that was draped over one of the chairs, opened the front door, and stepped out into the cold of Moscow, letting the door slam behind her.

“I’m so humiliated,” Natasha whispered into Anatole’s ear, “Your sister thinks I’m some kind of whore.”

Anatole laughed. “Héléne judges everyone, so does it matter what she thinks of anyone? Don’t worry about my sister, darling. We were doing something rather fun before she left, and it might be even better now that she’s gone.” Anatole leaned in to kiss Natasha, but she turned her head, standing up and putting out her hand.

“Dance with me, Anatole.” 

“There’s no music,” he said, rising to his feet anyway and taking Natasha’s hand.

“Then just count.”

Anatole raised an eyebrow, beginning to count as he and Natasha glided across the polished floor of his sitting room. 

“I’ve always loved to dance,” Natasha whispered, “When I was little I loved to dance with Sonya, and I love balls because I get to dance with everyone, and when I first met Andrey we used to dance all the time.” She paused. “I think we should have a small wedding, and move out to the country for a while.”

“Why?” Anatole asked, turning Natasha slowly.

“It’s going to be a big scandal, don’t you think? Me leaving Andrey, who’s supposed to save my family’s reputation, for you, the playboy son of a prince? I’d just like to get away from the gossip for a while. Spend some time in the country with just me and my wonderful husband.”

Anatole smiled. “Sounds good to me.”

“I love you, Anatole.”

“I love you, Natasha.” He spun her around and kissed her before letting her lead him across the floor. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter four (FINAL CHAPTER!!) comes out November 5th


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late, but I hope you like it!

“Are you ready?” Anatole asked Natasha.

She pulled her cloak tighter around her. A trunk of clothes Héléne had bought for her was loaded in the troika alongside Anatole’s trunk, and she had left two letters, one for Andrey and one for Marya, on her pillow before she had snuck out of her room that morning. Natasha smiled at Anatole and nodded.

Anatole pulled himself up into the troika and signaled to the driver, who immediately moved his horses into action. Anatole slung his arm around Natasha’s shoulders and pulled her in for a kiss. “On to a great adventure, ma chérie.”

Natasha smiled. “My greatest adventure yet.” She leaned into his shoulder and fell asleep.

  


The ceremony was small, but it felt enormous to Natasha. Looking into Anatole’s eyes and swearing to love him until the day she died felt like the most important moment of her life, and when Anatole smiled and repeated her words Natasha glowed. He swept her off her feet into a passionate kiss, and Natasha felt herself melt against him. “Take me home, Anatole,” she whispered into his ear. Anatole winked at the priest, who forced a smile, and carried Natasha back to the troika. He set her down in her seat, but as soon as the driver goaded the horses into action, she climbed back over his lap, pressing warm kisses along his neck.

“Natasha, my love, shouldn’t we wait?” Anatole breathed into her ear.

“I’m tired of waiting,” she said back. Leaning closer she said, “I want you inside me, Anatole. I want to hold you closer than I’ve ever held anyone.”  
Anatole groaned, and brushed her hair out of her face. He kissed her nose before he said, “I want that too. But patience is a virtue.” He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her head into his shoulder. Natasha huffed into it. She had only just realized how badly she wanted Anatole, but now it felt like the feeling would overcome her. All she could think was Anatole Anatole Anatole. Natasha smiled to herself, running her fingers gingerly up the inside of her husband’s thigh. He shivered but did not pay her any more attention. Natasha repeated the motion, adding a quiet hum of pleasure. Anatole grabbed her hand in his own. “We’re almost at the house, Natasha,” he whispered, “Don’t be foolish.”

They sat in silence for a while longer until the troika pulled to a stop in front of a nice country estate. Anatole led Natasha to their bedroom before returning to the troika to unload it. Natasha smirked, quickly lightning some candles before undressing and sitting on the bed, facing the door. When Anatole returned with their trunks, he stood agape in the doorway, looking at Natasha.

“Come to bed, Anatole,” she whispered, and he immediately obeyed, sliding on top of her until their lips met. Natasha brushed snow off his shoulders as she began to undo his coat. Anatole shrugged it off, undoing his own buttons as Natasha’s hands flew to the fastening of his pants. In a matter of moments, Anatole stood just as naked as Natasha, each of them admiring the other with fire and tenderness in their eyes.

“Beautiful,” Anatole whispered, hands running tenderly over Natasha’s skin, making her shiver. He planted gentle kisses from her collarbone down the center of her chest until his mouth reached her navel. Anatole looked up at Natasha and asked, “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” Natasha hissed, “Just don’t stop.”

Anatole smiled and lowered his head to Natasha’s hip, kissing down to her clit. Natasha squealed, squirmed, and gasped as Anatole’s tongue slid inside her and his finger circled her clit. He used his other hand to hold her hips down. Anatole sat back and growled, “Stay still.”

“Yes, Anatole. Sorry, Anatole,” Natasha breathed and Anatole groaned at the obedience in her voice. He lowered his head, resuming his careful motions until Natasha pulled him up. “Please, Anatole, I’m ready. Please, make love to me Anatole.”

Anatole smiled at her wide eyes and pushed her backwards with a kiss until Natasha was against the bed and Anatole hovered over her. “Just tell me if I’m hurting you, ma chérie.” He sat back, and entered Natasha slowly. She gasped, and his brow furrowed. “Are you alright?”

Natasha nodded, eyes squeezed shut. “Yes. Feels weird. Full.”

“Do you want to stop?”

Natasha shook her head fervently. “Slowly.”

Anatole kissed her again, pressing forward gently until his hips were flush with her body. He rested his forehead on Natasha’s. “Open your eyes,” he whispered. Natasha’s eyes fluttered open, and he said, “The hard part is over. Now it’s fun.” To punctuate his sentence, Anatole rolled his hips out and back in, and Natasha gasped. Slowly they found a rhythm, Natasha moving slightly to meet Anatole’s slow thrusts. As they gathered speed, Anatole slipped his hand between their bodies and Natasha arched her back with a groan as Anatole found her clit again.

“God, Anatole!” Natasha shouted. She threw herself forward, kissing and biting his neck and Anatole groaned. His hips started losing their rhythm as he fought to go slowly and his body urged him to speed up. Natasha laid back down and whispered, “I can do it. Just let go.”

Anatole leaned over her, kissing her and still rubbing her clit as his hips pistoned. He felt a wave of pleasure rush over him and whispered, “I love you Natasha,” as he came. He took a second to recover himself before pulling out and sliding down Natasha’s body.

“What are you-” Natasha was cut off by her own groan as Anatole sucked on her clit, alternating between flicking his tongue across it and massaging her with his fingers until she came with a gasp.

Anatole stood up and pulled the covers over Natasha before climbing in behind her, pulling her back to his warm chest. “How was it?”

“Amazing,” Natasha mumbled into the pillow, “I’m really tired now.”

He kissed the back of her neck. “Then get some sleep, my love. And maybe when you wake up I can teach you how to use your mouth.”

Natasha smiled. “I love you, Anatole.”

“I love you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that’s it! Thanks for reading, and the first chapter of the sequel, Anatole’s Intimates, will be out December 3rd

**Author's Note:**

> hit me up at [hopingforaword.tumblr.com](hopingforaword.tumblr.com) and check out my other writing here on ao3  
> 


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